Her bubbly personality drew me in (fiction)
“Thanks for coming to Pilates today,” Jenny says. “If this is your first class, I hope you’ll have fun and feel great when we’re done.” Her blonde hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and she exudes positivity and good health.
Eleven of us are sitting around on exercise mats in the Montreal Badminton and Squash Club. As a 26-year-old new mother, playing Tuesday morning badminton here was my weekly break from being a mum. Now 65, I’m reeling from my darling husband’s sudden death. After being my soulmate for 43 years, John suffered a massive stroke while playing squash. He died only two days later, which spared him the indignity of being kept alive artificially. This happened only four months ago.
Jenny is Enthusiastic
Today I’m trying out Pilates. I hear it combines healthy exercise with social connection. I tried yoga but found it too slow and boring. Just holding various poses gave me too much time to think about my new sorrow and the fact I’d be eating dinner alone that night…again. I’m delighted to find that Jenny’s enthusiasm fills the room, and so I’ll definitely be back.
Wearing a tee shirt, footless tights, and bare feet, I join the class every Wednesday morning at 10. Jenny expertly teaches the technical moves, and coaches us individually to be sure we do them for maximum effectiveness – while preventing injury. We range in age from twenty-something to 76. A few of us retirees make a point of meeting for coffee afterwards and it’s wonderful how accepted I feel in this group. My new pals gradually share details about their own troubles and busy lives and listen attentively to mine. After showering, I leave the club feeling healthy, energized, and looking forward to our next session.
To me, the congenial star of these Pilates classes is always Jenny. As we’re gathering on our mats, she tells amusing anecdotes about her sons Chris, 11, and Matt, 9. Both play tons of hockey and love snowboarding. She can make a drive through a blizzard sound engaging.
Her marriage had ended in divorce three years earlier so the shared custody patterns have been worked out. She keeps quiet about whose idea it was to divorce, and why. Being so attractive, fit, energetic, and funny, it’s no surprise to me that she’s dating again. She’s only 41.
Outside the Class
One day we meet by accident in Ogilvy’s department store. I invite Jenny to have a coffee, and we’re soon settled in the store’s basement café. Carefully placing her cup on its saucer, she softens her usually buoyant personality to inquire, “How’re you doing, Suzanne? I know that you lost your husband only months ago. Please tell me about him.”
It gives me joy to talk about John: how we met, when we married, our kids, our careers, etc. Being an introvert, I rarely talk at length, but she encourages me. What a lovely girl she is, I think. A super listener. She gently brings up the tricky topic of finding a new partner.
“I know it’s very early in your grief journey, but believe me, finding love again is definitely worth the trouble. You have lots of life ahead of you, Suzanne.”
When I ask Jenny about her dating experiences, she talks about logistics but keeps details about her new love to herself. I don’t take offence. After all, she’s my Pilates instructor and she’s likely concerned that I’ll gossip about her to other club members.
I faithfully do Pilates every week for the next three years – only stopping over the summer months when I prefer golf and tennis. Regrettably, “Pilates with Jenny,” a highlight of my week, stops abruptly – she quits the club and disappears. I find her replacement to be merely adequate.
Hospital Role
That autumn I begin volunteering at the Montreal General Hospital. I work in the Emergency Department every Monday morning for four hours. I love being there because I’ve learned how to help patients temporarily forget the accident or illness that triggered their admission. Approaching their bed with a smile, I’ll chirp, “How’s your day going so far?” even if they’re lying there with a huge, freshly applied cast. The patient laughs and we chat about anything but why they’re in the ED.
Five years later, I’m strolling through the crowded ED waiting room one day when I recognize Jenny sitting in a corner. Walking over to her, I say, “Jenny, it’s been ages! What are you doing here?”
“Oh, Suzanne. It’s so good to see you!” she replies. “I’m here with my son Chris. He’s in the washroom now. He was on a plane with his dad, flying to Calgary. It was taxiing, about to take off, when Chris cut his own wrists! When my ex summoned the flight attendant, the plane aborted takeoff, taxied back to the gate, and Chris and his dad deplaned. They were brought here by ambulance.”
By this time, tears are streaming down her face.
“What are you doing here?” she asks. I briefly explain my volunteer role.
“Is there anything you can do to get us seen sooner? I’m not asking you to pull strings or anything, but I’m scared that Chris is going to just walk out of here. He’s obviously in distress, but at 19, I can’t stop him.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
I actually can’t do anything as there’s a triage process, but watching me use my ID card to access the inner zone will at least make Jenny feel that somebody is doing something to help her pitiable son.
A clerk in the inner zone assigns me the task of delivering a file within the hospital. By the time I return, Jenny and Chris are being seen by a doctor.
I never hear the outcome of their visit, and confidentiality protocol prevents my ever finding out. All I can do is wish them well from afar – and pledge to never share the fact that I saw her with anyone.
If I learn anything from this experience, it’s that one never knows what is going on in another person’s life. Jenny’s outgoing personality had touched me from the moment we met. An upbeat, energetic exterior can mask heart-breaking troubles.